Bond and Bach
by phantom-lass
Summary: 5 Violin fuelled scenes with James and Sherlock during the dismantling of Moriarty's web. GIRL Sherlock!
1. The Purchase

**Hi guys. Welcome to the new Bondlock collection. In Bond and Bach this will be connected one-shots all about Sherlock, James and the Violin - maybe with a baddy or two thrown in for good measure. :)**

**As always (well, nearly always) these fics will be femSherlock and set during the time of the hunt for Moriarty.**

****This chapter and the next four are all stories that were originally posted on my tumblr account - griffinquillsandoctopusink dot tumblr dot com****

**Enjoy! :) **

**Part 1 - The Purchase**

The first time it happened James didn't think much of it. Well, more than was necessary. They had been stuck in a ratty one bedroom flat for nearly two months before the move to another city and a much nicer living area. The upgrade was vastly appreciated by Bond, who had developed a whole new love for working kitchen fans after a near disaster with an apparent 'experiment' courtesy of his slightly unhinged (he was certain there was something wrong with the girl) ward. He was sure he would wake up dead one morning thanks to one of her scientific investigations. So, he was actually grateful when she stayed in her room all day – the door locked securely. He left her too it. She may be crackers but she was still a woman, and women, nuts or not, still needed 'alone time'. He was glad of the quiet.

At least, he was glad until the late afternoon when he heard the rattle of a key in the lock to their door. He had tensed, standing in one smooth motion and reaching for the gun sitting harmlessly - for the moment – on the coffee table.

He positioned himself behind the wall, with a clear view of the door.

The lock clicked. The door swung open.

He stepped out, aiming and ready to fire and then froze when he saw just who the intruder was.

The girl didn't look at all frightened with having a weapon pointed at her head. In fact, once she had closed the door she actually had the audacity to lift an eyebrow in an expression that could only be translated to mean, 'Really?'

She sighed and turned away from him as she locked the door and he lowered the weapon.

"Where the hell have you been?" he snarled as she turned to face him once again, "I thought you were in your room,"

"Never assume, Mr Bond," she told him cooly and went to walk past him.

Now, James was well aware that they hadn't known each other for that long and that between the two of them they weren't the most forthcoming pair on the planet, but this was beyond the joke.

He shot out a hand and gripped her by the arm.

He needed her to realise that this was not a game.

"You didn't answer my question," he hissed.

She said nothing

"Where were you?"

She looked at him and then down at his hand gripping her arm and then back up at him.

"Nowhere you need worry about," she told him.

"Now," she spoke through a forced smile, "Let. Me. Go," she spoke softly, but the words were full of venom, "Before your chances of having children drop to below average,"

He stared into her eyes. Such a pale blue they reminded him of ice.

He released her but in his own sweet time. It wouldn't do to have her thinking she could threaten him just with hints whenever she felt like it.

—

James had hoped that was the end of the sudden disappearances. Once was quite enough. What if something had happened to her? How was he supposed to explain to those at the top that she had died on his watch because he thought she was in her room when actually she was gallivanting around their city of the week? That meeting would not end well for him.

It took a few more weeks of normality – well, he had learned that 'normal' was subjective in his line of work and it had become even more so since he had begun babysitting Sherlock Holmes – before she vanished once more, again with him not knowing where she had gone.

And again.

And again.

It was getting ridiculous. It didn't matter which city they were in she always managed to find the opportunity to elude him. He would lecture her upon her return about safety and each time he did his words just seemed to go over her head.

The girl it seemed just had a knack for getting out of their flat/hovel of the day and sneaking off to wherever she went to.

After five months, ten flats and six cities he finally caught onto her and trailed her from the flat – definitely on the nicer side of the accommodation they had been staying in. He couldn't understand just what she was trying to do. Her wanderings seemed to be just that. There was no pattern. It all seemed aimless. But if there was one thing he had learned about the young woman it was that she never did anything without a reason. He followed her through alleyways, through streets, car parks, the city greenbelt (a pleasant area)… All the while she was peering under dumpsters, up trees and down drains.

This went on for the whole day until she stopped mid stride past an alleyway and did a turn. He quickly ducked inside a doorway and watched as she walked slowly into the alley, crouching slightly.

_What the hell is she doing?_

He stepped away from the door and made his way to the entrance of the alley. He peered into it.

She was leaning down and calling a name. Holding something out in her hand.

"Come Bruno. Come," she was talking softly but firmly and he saw for the first time that there was some kind of dog treat in her hand and several feet from her was another treat on the floor, and several feet from that treat was a dog.

_Bruno?_

He tensed and reached for his gun, more that prepared to shoot the dog if it turned vicious. It was a large dog with Rottweiler in it if he had a guess and he didn't fancy Sherlock's chances if it decided to go for her.

Much to his surprise the dog came up to her after gobbling the treat from the street and then took the treat – a long chew he noticed thankfully – from her hand. The dog then plonked itself down in front of her and leaned forward, obviously expecting to be petted for its achievement.

Sherlock did so, moving her hands slowly and making sure the dog could see what she was doing with them at all times. She roughed up the coat telling him how clever he was while running her fingers under the collar and squinting at the identification tag.

James watched in confussion as she pulled a lead from her coat pocket and clipped it to the collar. All the time she made a fuss of the animal telling him he was 'such a clever dog', and he would be 'home soon,".

It was the most…human he had ever seen the girl act.

He stepped into the shadows as she walked past, accompanied by the dog and followed her once again. The girl had stamina he would give her that. She had been waking all day and then to top it off proceeded to walk the dog for another good hour to the outskirts.

It was a nice neighbourhood that she led him to and he had had a few close calls with her nearly catching him. But he made it all the way to the end of the final street where from the shelter of a bus stop he watched Sherlock knock on a door and be invited in my the enthusiastic owner who showered attention upon the now barking dog and even hugged Sherlock before she disappeared through the door.

Sometime later and after apologising to three annoyed bus drivers who had stopped thinking he was in need of a lift (only logical he supposed, he was standing at a bus stop after all) Sherlock finally left the house. She had obviously been shown to the door by the still ecstatic woman who had answered the door some hours before.

There was plenty of energetic handshaking and more hugging before Sherlock managed to escape the woman's affectionate clutches and began the long walk back to their own flat. He followed her some of the way and then once they were close enough to the flat for him to feel comfortable leaving her he dashed down a side street and ran ahead.

By the time he heard her key in the lock he was on the sofa with the telly on and performing a maintenance check on his gun.

He didn't look up or say a word as she locked the door behind her and put the chain across the bar.

Then silence.

There was no sound of Sherlock moving to her room or the kitchen (as he would expect after such a long day). There was just nothing.

He broke and looked up to find Sherlock leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest. She was staring at him, an amused look upon her pale face.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked calmly, a little smirk on her face.

She knew.

How did she know?

The answer, 'Because she is Sherlock Holmes' came to mind but he cast it aside immediately and decided he must had slipped up somewhere.

_Your losing your touch, old man._

He turned back to his maintenance.

"I went out for a walk,"

"Indeed," she sounded amused, "It was fine weather for it,"

He had to agree there. While a little nippy in the shade (or in those damn alleyways) it had been a fine, warm-when-in-the-sun day.

He made no reply.

She said no more.

They both went to bed after a dinner of microwave curry.

—

The disappearances stopped after the case of Bruno.

She didn't volunteer any information and he didn't ask anything of her.

It wasn't until the next flat in the next city and one month later that an explanation – of sorts – was finally given and he was dragged into a music shop by a firm grip on his hand. To say that she was nothing but skin and bones the girl had more than enough strength in her to get him through the door.

He stood, shocked for a moment or two in the doorway as she released his hand and proceeded to coo over sheet music and instruments like one would a baby.

Getting his bearings he edged away from the door and began to look around the shop himself, never very far away from he girl he was growing increasingly fond of despite himself.

It was like any other music shop he had ever been in – not many true – but they always had a feel of neglect to them. Like they had been there from the dawn of time and would be there still come judgment day. He glanced behind the counter. The old man sitting there definitely looked like he hadn't been far behind the shop. Comically large glasses were perched on a long nose with a forest of hair protruding from each nostril. His ears weren't much better and looked as though they were in need of a prune. It seemed the old man had hair everywhere but his head.

James didn't often give much thought to aging. In his line of work retirement was often viewed as more of a fairy tale than anything actually achievable. But now, met with the sight of the old man who seemed more caricature than real, he wondered what he would look like should he ever reach the grand old age of a thousand and one. For one he doubted he would ever be able to look anyone in the eye. With everything that his body had been put through, the shooting, the torture, the countless near death experiences… It was truly a miracle that he was still walking up right.

A sudden exclamation had him seeking out Sherlock who was standing over a display case. After doing a quick sweep of the area he walked up behind her as the old man came hobbling from behind the counter, armed with a sturdy walking stick – that looked as though it weighed more than he did – and a keen eye for making a sale.

James stood back.

He didn't know what Sherlock was playing at but she wasn't leaving the shop with anything that was a certainty.

James had an emergency fund to access for food and immediate needs while they had access to various safe houses in the current city they lived in. They had a bag of clothes each and that was it. No extra.

So James couldn't quite fathom, how, after fifteen or so minutes of what to him sounded like utter babble (but obviously made sense to the old man and Sherlock) the old man was taking something – a violin? – from the display case and handing it to Sherlock.

She looked at it from every angle.

Plucked the strings.

Tucked it beneath her chin.

Looked at it again.

"I'll take it,"

James watched, gobsmacked. As soon as the old man had turned away to begin the limp back to the counter she reached down her top and pulled out a roll of money.

_Where the hell had she gotten that?_

Five minutes later they had left the shop. Sherlock was now the proud owner of a violin (and assorted necessities) while Bond was just confused. Very confused.


	2. Thinking

**Part 2 - Thinking**

James was feeling groggy and gritty eyed. Not just in the alarm-has-gone-off-time-for-a-new-day kind way either. In the, he had just dozed off half an hour ago, kind of way. In the, he was going to kill the person in the next room, kind of way.

He should have burned that damn violin when Sherlock had first started her habit of playing it at two in the morning to 'think'. He wondered what she did to 'think' before she had saved enough reward money from recovering lost dogs and why she couldn't have just gone back to doing it. She had been playing at more and more ridiculous hours during her 'thinking time' and didn't seem to be getting too far.

He rolled from the bed - not terribly dignified, but there was no one to give him marks - and walked through the dark flat to the living room.

There she was, standing in the light of the street lamps streaming through the window. She was perfectly still, except for the occasional sway and the gently movement of her arms as she played.

She was a wonderful player, she drew music from the instrument without even trying.

"You'll wake the neighbours," he told her gruffly.

"No I won't," she replied, never ceasing her playing.

It was nice, beautiful even, just not when he was trying to get some sleep and keep them alive.

"The last couple were honeymooners. The neighbours are still wearing earplugs as a precaution,"

He chuckled and shook his head, he did not want to know how she had came to that conclusion.

James sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes, listening to the soft playing and drifted off to sleep with a silhouette swaying gently before him to the ebb and flow of the music.


	3. At the Bar

**Part 3 - At the Bar**

James sat at the bar sipping at a scotch - neat, he was not letting anything with the chance of watering down the alcohol near his glass this evening. Just one though. That was all he was going to allow himself. Just one.

He took another sip, holding it in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing it.

It was good but not the best he had ever drunk.

The din of the bar surrounded him with the constant chatter of people and the boom of the music the bodies on the dance floor were currently gyrating too. A waltz or a samba was more his speed. Even a tango.

A body pressed up against his side and leaned against the bar.

He turned his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock. She didn't look much like Sherlock at the moment. His Sherlock had dark hair and eyes like ice. This Sherlock went by the name of Annie, had red curls that fell in front of her now green eyes and was dressed like she was out for a good time.

For all of his years of undercover operations, coming back to the flat with this Sherlock making herself a cup of tea had to be one of the most disconcerting things he had ever experienced. The fact that he had pulled his gun on her might have given his surprise away to the young genius. But all she had done was quirk an eyebrow and tell him to put the gun away before he hurt someone.

He wasn't sure if he should feel insulted by that or not.

"You know why we are here, yes?" Sherlock's voice brought him back to the present.

Oh, yes, he knew why she has dragged him out alright.

"To sing karaoke…" he tried, rolling his eyes and taking another sip of whiskey. It was growing on him.

Sherlock sighed at him.

"No. We are here to make a name for ourselves,"

Oh yeah.

Bond didn't know why he couldn't just find their newest mark, trail him for a few days, find the evidence they needed and then put a bullet into his head. It seemed to work well enough in the past.

"We've been over this," she sighed in exasperation and he knew she had read his mind. Again.

How did she do that?

"If we do things steadily and are careful where we tread we will catch more than him,"

James allowed the explanation to flow over his head. After all, she had already explained it all to him when she had talked him into this crazy scheme. Everything about it was going against the instincts that had kept him alive all of these years, but he had found that Sherlock was not someone he could easily say no to.

The bar was starting to settle down a little now and he turned around casually on his stool after finishing the last of his drink - the sight of the bottom of the glass was truly a depressing thing - and glanced around.

The music was being turned down and the dancers on the floor were taking the hint and heading to tables group by group or to the bar.

"...to do so we cannot just turn up out of the blue," Sherlock finished.

James frowned at the bustling crowds.

He hated undercover work that just landed in your lap this way. And being undercover while being undercover was a sure way to get killed.

He turned back to the bar and reached for his glass. It was halfway to his lips before he remembered it was empty. Sad indeed.

He waved the glass at Sherlock.

"Well I am going to need a few more of these if you intend me to...perform well this evening,"

James wiggled his eyebrows at the double entendre but the girl just looked blankly back at him.

Alright then.

After another very pleasant drink - it was amazing how much more drinkable the house whisky became after the first glass - James accompanied Sherlock to the stage and inserted the backing music into the CD player in the back corner. The speakers sat to either side of the make shift stage that was dragged out once a week on a Friday for an evening of amateur entertainment.

Wolf whistles came from the crowd as Sherlock readied herself and he forced himself to look at her as the men in the crowd were.

Dressed in small heals, ripped jeans and an off the shoulder tunic she looked gorgeous with the lights hitting her red hair and making it shine.

Damn. He should have had more to drink.

The staff member who was in charge of things announced their names and reminded the audience how the voting worked.

James would be the first to admit that the $150 prize money would be handy for the emergency fund. The boy in charge - David, read his name tag - announced what they would be performing and left the stage with an exaggerated "Take it away!"

James hit the play button while wondering how the kid kept up the enthusiasm as there had been at least half a dozen performers before them.

The striking notes of piano keys echoed through the silence and he turned in time to see Sherlock standing at a microphone, violin tucked under her chin and bow raised.

From the moment she played the first note he watched her become lost to her surroundings.

She swayed to the music as she drew it from the instrument and he stood spell bound for a moment.

The crowd breaking into a round of applause brought him back to himself and he strode to the mike standing beside hers.

It was his turn now.

He took a breath and opened his mouth.

Queen and Country, he reminded himself, his eyes fixed on the swaying girl at his side.

Queen and Country.

It was after midnight when they left the club, the proud holders of the $150 prize money.

James couldn't help but walk a little taller as they weaved through the lamp lit streets on the way back to their flat. They had even been invited back to perform again any time - and that was the crowning achievement of the evening as far as Sherlock was concerned.

"He owns several clubs all over the country," she was telling him as they walked, her arm tucked into his, "He likes to 'discover' talent-"

He allowed her to shift her plan to include tonight's success, muttering away to herself in that way that she did while he thought over what had happened after the announcement that they had won.

In an utterly uncharacteristic move Sherlock had hugged him. She had thrown her arms around and all but leapt into his arms.

He stole a glance at the girl on his arm, her face was alight with their success…

He had liked it.


	4. Sally and Her Jack

**Part 4 - Sally and Her Jack**

It was Halloween and James Bond was in his own personal Hell.

A collection of weird and wonderful costumes were on show, from vampires to fairies and all he could think of over the loud pulsing music was that he was thrilled he didn't have to perform tonight.

He picked at the black material of his shirt and sighed heavily.

James hoped Sherlock's plan worked, because if it didn't they had wasted a lot of time over the past few months going from bar to bar and building up a reputation of sorts.

He had refused – point blank – to wear a costume and none of Sherlock's complaints or frowns shifted him on it when he had seen the number she had picked out for him. She had told him it was to match hers but he had put his foot down. James had felt rather proud of himself for denying her.

Now he was the only one in the bar without a costume and he was feeling a fool.

Sherlock had donned some Raggedy Anne ensemble. She had even drawn seams onto her skin and painted her face a pale colour. He couldn't decide if it was blue or not. She had died her hair a rich red colour and it fell to the middle of her back is waves that were normally confined into a bun at the back of her head. He had to hand it to her; she knew how to go about disguises. They had been to five different bars in the past three months and never to the same one more than three or four times and each one got a different look. He knew that if they were to come back to this one she would keep the red hair and the green contacts that were hiding her ice-blue eyes.

The only thing that remained the same was their names for entering the competitions.

Despite his thoughts he continued to be aware of what was going on around him and didn't even flinch as the red head of the moment came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head between his shoulder blades. He wondered if her makeup would come off on his shirt.

"There you are," she spoke teasingly above the sound of the music and he took her hands – which were clasped together at his chest – in one of his own and raised them to his lips to kiss while his other hand abandoned his glass to make it quicker to draw his gun if it was needed.

After all. Sherlock did not do 'teasing'. He wondered sometimes if she even knew the meaning of the word. Not that having Sherlock draped against him in such a way was entirely unpleasant. He had come to terms with his…attachment to her pretty quickly.

He released her hands when she moved around him, her arms sliding up to wrap around his neck.

She leaned in, the smell of the face paint filling his nose, and whispered in his ear reprovingly.

"I've been looking all over for you! Play along,"

And just like that she kissed him full on the mouth.

James' heart leapt in his chest as he felt her fingers graze the back of his neck before tangling in his hair.

A man needed warning before being propositioned like this!

He couldn't stop himself from shifting his body slightly so he could wrap his arms around her slight frame. His fingers moved of their own volition too, tracing the curve of her spine. Up and down. Up and down.

And just as quickly as she had pounced on him she pulled away and stood to the side.

James smiled easily. They were undercover after all and if he and Sherlock were a couple she would definitely be on the receiving end of more than a smile at the moment after a kiss like that.

"What was that for?" he asked her, rising his drink carelessly to his lips and taking a long sip to steady himself.

Sherlock was still leaning into him slightly – the girl was one hell of an actress – and raising a thumb she jabbed it over her shoulder.

"A few of the patrons were getting a bit too keen,"

James followed her gesture and his eyes landed on two young men. He would place them in their late twenties, early thirties. They were in fancy dress too but to James' eyes they looked ridiculous.

He scowled at the men who were nursing pipes and ogling Sherlock, the weight of his concealed weapons becoming more apparent to him.

She was his damn it.

Well, not his exactly but –

"I'm up,"

Sherlock's announcement brought his attention back to her and he noticed that the teeth grinding music had stopped its incessant thumping in his ears.

She leaned towards him and pressed another kiss to his frozen lips – he really needed to have a word with the girl about warning him before the sudden displays of fake affection. She collected her second hand violin – she treated the instrument like gold dust – in its third hand case from the floor where it was tucked into the bar below his stool.

She went up to the stage and exchanged places with the DJ in training. He watched her as she placed her backing CD into the player while the man in charge introduced her. A cheer went up from the crowd as her name was mentioned and James looked away from her quickly to cast an eye over the audience. He recognised more than one face under crazy hats and costume accessories.

Sherlock, it seemed, had developed quite a fan club over the past couple of months.

She walked up to the microphone and surprised him by following on her public display of affection by dedicating the song to her very own 'Jack Skeleton'. There was a general 'aww' from the audience and then laughter when Sherlock finished off by identifying him as the 'Grumpy git at the bar'.

More than one head turned to the bar and he lifted his glass in a toast to the stage, realising just how 'off' the unwanted attention had made Sherlock for her to draw so much attention to their 'relationship'.

In the time it took for all of the eyes to return to the stage Sherlock had darted away from the microphone, pressed play on the CD player and returned to her spot.

She raised her violin and settled it under her chin.

"That's one I made earlier," she told the crowd with a small smile and a nod towards the player.

Another laugh rippled through the crowd and then it was a cheer as the music started.

James couldn't help but smile as Sherlock began to sway and bob to the music, her foot tapping out a tune and then she launched into her song, lost to the world.

* * *

**Oh dear. Poor James' heart can't stand much more of this ;)**

**PS - Sherlock was dressed as Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas :)**

**And the two guys hitting on her were Hobbits ;)**


	5. Shattered Chords

**Part 5 - Shattered Chords**

The whole point of Sherlock's elaborate plan performing at bars was to catch the big fish that owned the bars and had been an associate of the not so dearly departed Jim Moriarty.

Catching tiddlers had not been art of the plan!

The night had been going well. It was the second time they had performed at this particular bar and James was gulping down his third coffee of the last half an hour – the previous to nights and days had been devoted to surveillance – while Sherlock was putting away her precious violin when she suddenly prodded him in the arm with the thing.

He looked up at her, ready to give her a dressing down for her mistreatment of his person when she jerked her head sharply.

He followed the movement to the corner of the bar.

Through the crowd milling about he could see several men. There was nothing wrong with them to look at but the way they were whispering – despite the loud music – and glancing about nervously immediately had James on edge. And when money changed hands curious didn't cover his feelings on the strange exchange.

They ducked under the bar and he watched them head towards a flight of stairs that lead to the basement.

"Stay here," he told Sherlock as he slid form the bar stool.

"I'll do that," she grumbled sarcastically, following after him anyway.

He should have known better.

Following the example set for them they both ducked under the gap in the bar and headed for the stairs. It was a busy Saturday night and the barman was too occupied serving drinks and counting change to pay them any attention.

The drop in temperature was a shock to James as he walked down the concreate stairs with Sherlock close behind him.

He could hear the hum of the dishwasher and the clanking of the ice machine. He knew both of the machines were kept down here out of the way from his first self-appointed tour of the premises the night before their initial performance. There was no exit through the basement so it didn't come as a surprise when he heard talking over the rattling of the machines.

James turned and gestured for Sherlock to stay behind him. She rolled her eyes at him but thankfully the girl knew when not to question him and she stood against the wall, still clutching her violin in her hands.

He took the last few steps down into the bowels of the club and silently drew his gun.

The three men were in a huddle, speaking in hushed tones that became louder every now and then.

One of them threw up his hands in irritation, his eyes going up as well. And just as easily as that, James had been spotted.

The man panicked and throwing back his jacket began to fumble with his holster.

He took the man out with a shot to the shoulder and then after some wrestling with the other he had two of them on the floor and bleeding.

He turned around at the sound of groaning to see Sherlock standing over the writhing body of stranger number three.

She looked up at him with a proud look on her face and then down to her violin.

It was broken.

Splinters littered the man's dark suit and the only thing keeping the violin in 'one piece' in the loosest sense of the term was the violin strings as the body hung, swinging and disconnected from the neck of the instrument.

Sherlock narrowed her eyes at the man and James' eyebrows shot up as the girl kicked the injured man angrily.

She looked up at him.

"He broke my violin,"

James nodded his head in understanding and stepped over the groaning man to lead Sherlock back up the stairs and into the bar, leaving the bleeding but still breathing men moaning in pain on the basement floor.

Sherlock huffed as they climbed the stairs.

"I don't know what they are complaining about. At least they are all in one piece," she cried, looking down at her very much not-in-one-piece violin.

"I know. I know," he comforted her, rubbing a hand up and down her back slowly.

They entered the bar and returned to their chairs with no-one being the wiser and he left her cradling her smashed instrument at their stools while he went to make a call to the local police.

He didn't know what they had been up to but by the speed they had gone straight for their guns it wasn't anything good and he was sure the police would be interested in it.

James drank his coffee and took a bite of his toast as he flicked through the paper.

He turned the page and scoffed at the heading of one of the articles.

"_Vigilante!"_

He glanced away from the paper to see Sherlock sitting on the living room floor, her newly repaired violin lying across her lap as she dusted it gently. It had taken more money that James' was strictly happy with spending but he couldn't argue with the results. Sherlock had been nearly inconsolable over the loss of her hard won instrument and without it their plan was useless. It had taken nearly a week to track down someone who Sherlock felt could so justice to fixing the instrument. A week James would live a happy life not to have to repeat.

He went back to the article, reading it through quickly and shaking his head in disbelief. It seemed that he and Sherlock had single headedly taken out three members of one of the most notorious gangs in the area. There was a list of the crimes they had committed – ranging from murder to drug trafficking. They were also wanted in connection to the deaths of three police officers the previous year.

James shook his head in amusement, took another drink of his coffee and another bite of his toast.

He really did need to start a scrap book of some kind. His time with Sherlock Holmes was turning out to be anything but boring.

And then the irony of the situation hit him.

He dropped the paper and laughed until his sides hurt.

Sherlock had taken out a gangster with a violin…

* * *

**Tada!**

**All done for this collection :) For incomplete collections you can check out my tumblr :)**

**Please let me know what you think :)**


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